Maybe it was not knowing the whereabouts of Morgan that was getting to me. She was a new friend who was captain of a gang of street urchins who had come to our aid on several occasions. To my delight, avid reader that I am, we had our own group of Irregulars. Sherlock would be proud indeed.
But Morgan—who had always been known as just “Morgan” since she was a bit touchy with personal details—had been absent the last couple of weeks for our standing ice cream date. She’d been “on business” before, so we’d missed meetings, but never two weeks in a row. Something was up with her, and it ate away at me in the back of my mind. That mixed with the mystery of why the police commissioner was calling in Finn and me; I felt distracted and on edge.
Around four o’clock when twilight was hitting hard, making it seem far later than it was, Fio came bounding up to my desk.
“Lane! I need you to go with me over to Hell’s Kitchen. I found more pinball machines!”
I suppressed the need to roll my eyes as I yet again grabbed my coat and hat and purse. We jumped into the sedan, and Ray drove us over to the aptly named area. Since the 1800s the area west of midtown along the Hudson River was home to a hotbed of gangs. At one point, supposedly there were more speakeasies than children. Underground crime was high, but regular crime was low due to the gangs to which people were in service or in debt. It was a weird hierarchy and Fio hated all of it.
We drove up to 46th and all the way over to Eleventh Avenue. It was always a haul to the far west side. Right next to the Landmark Tavern, an Irish bar and restaurant from the 1800s, was a deli with the aptly named if not imaginative sign out front: Deli. It looked like it was a front for something else. I guess you get used to reading between the lines in my kind of work. Whether it was the few shifty-looking people outside, the food that they did indeed sell although it looked dusty and stale, or maybe it was the couple of prostitutes on the corner—it all added up to no good.
“Uh . . . are you sure we should be here and not the police?” I asked, staying in the car.
“Oh, the police are already here, Lane. They’ve got it under control, that’s how I heard about it.”
Fio has a police radio in his office, in his home, and in his car. I think it’s safe to say that he’s obsessed with it. He is often a first responder to all of the big emergencies in the city, especially fires, car accidents, and big crimes. It’s one of the reasons he has the press in a frenzy. He’s impossible to read and no one has enough energy to actually follow him consistently.
I looked up as I caught the prostitutes backing away, farther down the street. They also must’ve gotten the notion that something was not quite right. Fio and I eased out of the car. My door slammed loudly, echoing off the buildings. It was very quiet, which was strange in the city.
Inside, I glimpsed a short man edging toward the back. I immediately thought of my romp with Roarke through Grand Central. Could that be the Crusher?
“Do either of you know what a mitney is?” I asked on impulse.
Fio said, “No, never heard of it.”
Ray said, “It’s an old term for a cop. Like, it kind of stood for the shoulder clamp of a cop on a thug’s shoulder.”
“A cop?” I stuttered, my mind racing. A cold sweat prickled my neck and forehead. My stomach dropped as I realized what this meant. “Fio!” I said urgently. “They’re aiming for the cops!”
He and Ray shot their eyes to me. Ray quickly scanned the area and uttered under his breath, “Shit.”
The static tension in the air made all of us brace ourselves. Something was going down.
“Lane, back up to the car. Slowly.” Fio put out his arm to carefully push me toward the car; he only had eyes for his police radio.
Inside the deli, another flash of movement caught my eye. The windows were cloudy from grime and disregard but there were people inside. Three policemen came out the door; they must’ve been searching the premises. But whatever tension we’d been experiencing, they hadn’t felt inside. Their nonchalance was in direct opposition to the braced stances Fio, Ray, and I had taken.
I immediately recognized two of the policemen, Scott and Peter. Scott nodded at me and smiled at the same moment two men came around the corner, guns in hand, pointing at Fio. Ray was on it first.
“Get down!” yelled Ray.
I hit the ground, scraping my hands on the harsh cement. And without even knowing I’d done it, I had my dagger in hand.
Gunshots fired.
I covered my head. Fio was on the ground right next to me, our faces close, our eyes locked in terror. Shit. More shots, glass breaking.
Hands scraped and bleeding, heart thumping, I slowly turned my head, looking under the car toward the store. Two forms on the other side of the car hit the pavement with a sickening sound. Thud, thud. I instinctively reached out my hand beneath the dirty car, my elbow scraping against the wet street. But he didn’t reach back. His eyes were directed at mine, but he was unable to see anything.
Everything went silent.
“Peter!” Someone was screaming as I ran around the car and knelt down next to him. I think it was me. Blood was everywhere. I softly stroked his hair from his forehead. “Oh Pete.” I felt a weak arm reach out to my shoulder as Scott sat up slowly, also hit, in the leg. He felt for Pete’s pulse.
“Lane, he’s gone.”
CHAPTER 5
The third policeman had nabbed one of the gunmen and quickly handcuffed him as Ray and Fio called in the shooting. The bullet had hit Scott on the outside of the leg, creating a deep gash. I quickly got his belt and my scarf, then tightly wrapped them around his thigh as a makeshift bandage and tourniquet, eliciting a groan of pain from him.
“You okay?” I asked softly, a hand on Scott’s shoulder. He just nodded, unable to take his eyes off Peter. I helped him stand up since there was no way he was staying put. The street had cleared like a magician’s disappearing act; a movement in the window from someone stealing a furtive glance from inside the store caught my eye.
“You! You did this!” I yelled savagely as I took off toward the store. Despite the shock of everything, I was seething with anger and suddenly, I had the guy by the collar with both fists and smashed him viciously against the wall of the deli, making a few loaves of bread topple off the shelf that rocked with the force of my shove. “Why? Why did you do this? Where is Crusher?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Lane!” I felt two pairs of hands carefully try to pull me back. Fio and—thank God—Finn.
“He’s behind this! I know it!” I gave him one last shove before I released my death grip on his smashed collar. “He’s Eugene Murk,” I spat out. “We were up at the West 100th Street station yesterday and Fio sent his pinball case to trial.”
Eugene finally found his greasy, thin voice. “No! It’s not like that!” My eyes darted to Finn and he couldn’t help a grimace of distaste as he looked at Eugene. “I’m the one that called it all in! Who’s Crusher?”
“What?” I exclaimed.
He rearranged his paunch a little and tucked in his yellowing shirt, wiping his nose with his sleeve in the process. “Yeah, I got a plea bargain and I’m helping the police with the pinball and slots.”
“It’s true, Lane,” said Fio from behind me.
“And it’s because we followed his so-called lead that Peter is dead,” I said, still seething.
“I know,” growled the mayor. “Murk! Who were those gunmen?”
Eugene Murk’s tiny pig eyes grew as wide as they could, as he backed up even farther against the wall, knocking more bread off the shelf. “No, really! Um, a guy named, lemme see . . . it started with a C. Cushman! He got me into the slots, you know, to make ends meet. You can’t blame a small business owner such as myself! It’s hard these days.” He smoothed his almost nonexistent hair against his head, then ran his hand along his pants, a sheen of greasy residue left behind. “I think he might have been one of the gunmen.”
Fio looked dubious. Finn said, “What’s
he look like? Can you describe him?”
“Yeah, I think I can. Of course, I couldn’t see very well from the back of the store . . . but he’s a little under six feet, a really big nose, kinda like a bird. Scary as hell. Uh . . . walked with a limp . . . is that good?” He looked at Finn like he might be his salvation. I didn’t think that would be the case.
“All right, all right. For now, we’ll get your testimony and keep looking into it all.” Finn turned to me and I’m sure he could feel me fuming. “Lane, we can’t hold him on anything.” He turned back to Eugene and breathed out through his teeth, “Yet. Get outta here.” Eugene slithered away to the back of the store and disappeared behind a curtain.
A flare of white outside the window made Fiorello, Finn, and me turn simultaneously. Scott was hobbling to the back of the ambulance. I exhaled as Finn’s hand found mine. A white sheet blew softly in the cold breeze as it gently alighted onto the motionless form of our friend.
* * *
Back at the office, Fio informed Valerie and Roxy of Peter’s death before informing the office as a whole. It was awful. Val’s normally cheery, freckled face had crumpled with the news. She and Peter had been an item for a while. It ended, but they remained friends and Pete had been integrally involved in the last couple of cases. We sent Valerie home and Roxy was going to go with her, but Val stoutly refused. She needed time alone. We all had lost a dear friend and an excellent cop. What I thought was going to be an exciting caper-of-a-mystery was turning out to be anything but. Pinball was indeed becoming a deadly game.
CHAPTER 6
Valerie made her way across town. She hardly knew where she was going, sort of. She stumbled once, reeling from the shock of Peter’s death. A stranger asked her if she was okay. Val felt herself blush, embarrassed and a little confused. “Uh, yes. Thank you. Just not feeling quite right.” She patted down her hair and kept going. It was like her feet knew the way and she was just along for the ride.
How could he have died? It didn’t seem possible. She’d known for a while that she didn’t love him, but still . . . they were friends and had been a little more. She felt a tear spill down her face and she swept it away with her white kid-gloved hand, uncaring that it made a smudge on the crisp surface.
Val got on an uptown bus and sat numbly by the window. She glimpsed the Chrysler Building, its triangular windows at the top bringing a smile to her face. It reminded her of a star, and it seemed a hopeful reminder of all they’d come out of the past few years. The art and music and architecture and cocktails of this era were so beautiful, so full of life despite the Depression the world was in. Despite the fact that they’d had the world’s biggest war and practically lost an entire generation.
Her eyes fluttered toward Grand Central. Lane loved that Grand Concourse, but Penn Station was Val’s favorite. It truly was the world’s most beautiful train station. Soaring glass ceilings, the sounds of adventure in the air.
A small smile crept over her light pink lips as she remembered that their first meeting had been in that hall. She had met him by random coincidence, and yet it felt like fate had a hand in it.
She got off the bus several blocks away, desiring the cold, fresh air. As she walked, she contemplated everything. Life was feeling very complicated, heavy. Her parents and home life, and now Peter’s death. She felt the load on her, more than she ever felt before.
Maybe that’s what compelled her to go to him.
She finally got to the six-story apartment building with the address she’d memorized quite a while ago. She buzzed up, then heard the reciprocal buzz and opened the door. She had six stories to climb up.
Every step brought her closer. Her heart was feeling lighter even though her burden was becoming more apparent. She quickened her steps, despite being out of breath.
At the top, she looked right and left to determine which apartment. She walked over to the right and knocked on the door. It opened.
“I . . . I don’t know why I’m here,” she said.
His smile reached his deep blue eyes, radiating comfort, safety, tenderness. “That’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here.”
Suddenly she felt her face crumple.
“Valerie, are you all right?” Concern rippled through him and he reached out to carefully bring her inside. “Come here.”
She had never wanted someone’s arms around her more. She numbly walked forward and carefully put her arms around his waist and he brought her head to his shoulder, caressing her soft hair.
“Val, what’s wrong?”
“Peter’s dead.”
“What?”
“He was shot today outside a deli Fio was raiding for slots and pinball.”
“Oh my God.” He pressed her head softly into his chest and kissed the side of her head.
She slowly looked up at him. He took her face into his hands, his thumbs carefully wiping the tears from beneath her eyes. She closed her eyes, not ever having felt that kind of tender care in her life.
Her green eyes opened and locked onto his. “Raff. Thanks,” she whispered.
His eyes never left hers. With the sweetest, slowest motion, he carefully brought his soft lips to hers. Her knees buckled the slightest bit, and with an automatic reaction, he picked her up into his arms.
CHAPTER 7
We moved the meeting with Valentine to a couple of hours later, and I completed everything I’d been working on. I used the agitated energy coursing through me to tackle the biggest jobs and finished it all up in record time. Fio was wrapping up, too; he tapped a packet of papers on his desk together, aligning all the pages in a satisfied tap tap tap.
The Tammany tiger grinned over at me from the floor. My boss loved to antagonize his opponents; well, actually he loved to antagonize everyone. He goaded his commissioners to all compete against each other for his attention. He felt it would make them work harder. But his hatred for the corrupt Tammany Hall knew no bounds. So he had a tiger skin brought in for his office floor décor. The Tammany mascot was the tiger. Fio, Fio, Fio.
Just before seven, Finn came in and after a shared look of understanding, we went to the coffee room to grab a cup before the meeting.
“How’s Val?” he asked solemnly.
“Awful. It was such a shock. She and Pete weren’t dating anymore, but still . . .”
“I know,” he said as he brushed his hair back with his hand in a gesture of disbelief. “I can’t wrap my mind around it. The department will have its inspector’s funeral next month. We need to give the family time to get here and for the city to prepare for the parade. I can tell you, Pete’s death is rocking the whole department. Anyone who hadn’t liked the Strong-arm Squad is having second thoughts now.”
“I can imagine,” I said. “I’m not fond of the judge, jury, and executioner aspect of it. But there are times when I just don’t give a damn, you know?”
“Yeah, absolutely.”
Commissioner Valentine, harried and concerned, entered into the offices and I headed over to greet him. “Hello, Mr. Valentine. I’ll take your coat. How are your officers? And are you doing okay?” I knew he’d had to break the news of Pete’s death to all the divisions today.
“Thanks, Miss Sanders. I appreciate you asking. We are all grieving, of course. I just can’t believe it was Peter. He seemed so substantial, so untouchable. But none of us are invincible. That’s for goddamn sure.”
I got him a black coffee, then we all headed into Fio’s office. I retrieved my own chair for the meeting.
Fio was always in a rush, always the impetus of frenzied action. The police commissioner was more metered, more introspective. He looked steadily at Finn, then me, then Fiorello. He was a good police commissioner and boy, did he clean house with the Strong-arm Squad as his main thrust of action. Valentine gave his special plainclothes cops the go-ahead to rough up any gangsters. He wanted to make the police so intimidating to the gangsters that they’d tip their hats to the policemen when they walked by. Fio selected him f
or the police commissioner because he’d heard of a “good cop” in Brooklyn. He searched him out and Valentine knew his plan as police commissioner from day one.
One of his plans involved Finn working undercover as a dirty cop in an effort to root out the corrupt officers who had been rampant since Prohibition. Thank God that mission ended. Now, apparently, Valentine had a whole new project for him to work on. For us to work on.
“London? You think I should go to London?” asked Finn, a shadow running across his handsome face.
“Yes. Mayor La Guardia and I have been discussing this for a while. Meet up with your latest contact, Miles Havalaar. We need to get a final answer on any remnants of the Red Scroll Network. With Europe heating up all over again, we have a vested interest in our allies. If a known criminal network may be setting up shop again, I’d like us to nip it in the bud while we can. It wouldn’t be right to just let it go. We want to extinguish any momentum they could gain here. We don’t know who killed Donagan Connell yet and we have to see if there’s any word about a possible heir, find out if there’s any real threat to this crime network starting up all over again. That is one thing we need to go to great lengths to stop before it even gets started.”
Fio nodded. “Yes, I think we have to go back to where it all began. We of course will keep an eye on things here, as well. But London was the Red Scroll’s genesis.”
Finn shook his head as he contemplated this idea. “I don’t know, sir, I just don’t know. Are you sure we need to go that far?”
Finn had been born in Ireland, but was raised in England. His family was less than congenial. He’d felt their profound betrayal somehow, and it haunted him. I had a feeling his hesitation to go all the way to London wasn’t just about the long distance, it was about his family, too.
Before anyone could answer, Roxy knocked on the doorframe, then said, “Excuse me, you all need to come out here.”
Oh boy. She was pale and clearly had some kind of ominous news.
The Pearl Dagger Page 4
